


Whipped!

by swinginglights



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F, Fluff and Crack, Humor, Out of Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-11
Updated: 2014-07-11
Packaged: 2018-02-08 10:46:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1937961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swinginglights/pseuds/swinginglights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quinn makes a bet with her wife Rachel. If Rachel catches Quinn being mean to their daughter's girlfriend, Quinn has to go through a whole week as a vegan. But if Quinn manages to go through three visits of her daughter's girlfriend without being mean, she gets to use her those handcuffs she bought . . . Crack!fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Leave the door unlocked!” Quinn shouted up the stairs to her daughter, Claire.

Claire had brought her girlfriend, Bailey, over once again. And while Quinn was quite relieved that Bailey was indeed a girl—darn that gender confusing name—she still treated the girl like she would have if she was a guy. Gruffly and suspiciously. For her own amusement, of course.

Rachel was appalled by her thinking when Quinn slipped up and revealed them to her.

“Why would you do that!” she had said.

Quinn scoffed.

“Because it’s funny!”

Rachel, though, was not amused.

“Do you know what you’re doing to the child!? The girl is terrified of you! And—”

“As she should be!” Quinn boldly interrupted.

Rachel’s eyes narrowed. Quinn shrunk back.

“Is that what you want? For Bailey to be traumatized? Because if it is, then congratulations!”

Quinn looked fearfully into the eyes of an angry Rachel. Nothing was more scary than an angry Rachel.

“What do you have to say for yourself, Quinn?”

“Uh . . . . is it that time of the month again?”

_Whack._

Quinn chuckled to herself as she recalled the memory. The conversation had ended with Quinn giving in and promising to be nicer to Bailey from now on. Rachel doubted Quinn would actually keep her promise, and she had voiced so.

“Psshh, yeah right.”

“Baby, cross my heart and hope for pie,” Quinn said as she rubbed the back of her head. So it was that time of the month for Rachel.

“That’s not enough,” she pouted in that cute way Quinn found irresistible.

“Rachel, baby . . .” Quinn was about to reassure her with a pinky promise, but then Quinn came up with a better idea. “How about a bet?” She grinned wickedly. Rachel eyed her, waiting for her to continue. “If I’m ever mean to Bailey, I’ll . . . become vegan for two weeks!”

Rachel perked up at that.

“Really?”Her eyes filled with hope. Maybe she could finally convert Quinn to the deliciousness of a vegan lifestyle. Yes! She was already flipping through her mental cookbook.

Quinn thought for a second. Images of bacon popped up in her mind. One juicy strip of bacon in particular grew eyes, a mouth and screamed, “You can’t do this to us!”

Quinn closed her eyes in pain.

“One week,” she whispered.

Rachel squealed in delight and tackled her.

Quiet enough for Rachel not to hear, Quinn whispered to her imaginary bacon babies, “I’m sorry . . .”

Quinn bit her bacon in disgust. How could she be so weak? What possessed her mind to suggest such an idea? But thoughts of her prize placated her. If she could go through three visits of being nice to Bailey, Rachel would let her use those handcuffs Quinn had bought. Quinn smiled to herself. But her rated-r thoughts were soon interrupted when she heard something that chilled her bones.

A loud groan. From upstairs.

 _. . . What?_   Quinn wasn’t sure she heard right. Yeah, that must be it. She didn’t hear it at all.

But then she heard it again.

“Ugggghhh!”

Quinn shot up from her seat on the couch, throwing the plastic plate of bacon across the room dramatically. Quinn charged up the stairs, her heart filling with dread as the sounds grew louder.

Giggles. Panting. Squealing.

Oh my God. Quinn couldn’t believe this. They were having sex while she was in the house!? The nerve of them!

Quinn stopped an inch shy from her daughter’s door, and pressed her ear to the door.

“You take that back!” Her daughter, Claire, shouted.

“No,” Quinn heard Bailey weakly protest.

“I. Said.Take. That. Back. Now!” Quinn heard the thump of a pillow at each enunciated word.

“NEVER, you fatty!”

That’s it, Quinn thought. Never mind that it sounded like they weren’t actually having sex or that Bailey obviously didn’t mean it, no one was allowed to insult Claire, except well, Quinn.

Quinn threw the door open and was shocked at what she saw.

There, on the bed, was Claire straddling Bailey and pressing a pillow on Bailey’s face. Claire looked up in alarm at her mom with a flushed face (presumably from her play-fight with Bailey) and her pressure on the pillow lessened enough for Bailey to push the pillow off her face and straddle Claire instead. Claire’s expression turned from surprised to fearful.

“Huh, what’s wrong?” Bailey asked, oblivious to the fact that Quinn just witnessed her daughter be straddled by her girlfriend.

“Um, Bailey . . . I think you should get off . . .”

“Huh?” She turned her gaze to the direction of Claire’s, yelped, and immediately flew off Claire and crashed to the floor, as if Claire was a burning hot kettle that she accidentally touched.

Quinn’s eyes narrowed dangerously. Bailey looked like a deer in headlights. Claire watched the scene play out in half-amusement and in half-fear. In amusement because she found Bailey’s reaction absolutely adorable. In fear because while she knew that Quinn just messed around with Bailey, this situation was different.

“What were you doing to my daughter?” Quinn calmly asked.

“I—I—We—She—” Bailey fumbled with her words. Quinn kept her stare even, as Bailey stuttered. Eventually, Bailey settled with a tiny “I’m sorry!”

“Oh are you! Are you sure you’re sorry! It didn’t look like you were sorry when you were on top of my daughter!”

Bailey squeaked.

“You know what, I should—” Quinn was interrupted when she heard a loud clearing of the throat behind her.

Quinn stiffened.

She slowly turned around and Rachel was there, leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, with one of her eyebrows raised.  
Oh no.

“Quinn? May I speak to you in the living room please?” Rachel didn't give Quinn time to respond; she spun around and went downstairs.

Quinn slumped her shoulders in defeat.

Claire laughed at her mom. She coughed out a “whipped!”

Quinn scowled at her daughter.

“No visits for a month!”

“What!”

“Quinn!”

“Coming, honey!”


	2. Chapter 2

Rachel wasn’t supposed to find out. She really wasn’t. But that pesky Latina just couldn’t keep her mouth shut. Santana had informed Rachel of a specific . . . trait about Quinn.

Quinn had a secret sweet spot on her body. It was on the very top of her head, near the back, the part where the hair started growing in different directions. Lord Tubbington had found it during one of Quinn’s visits to Santana’s and Brittany’s. If one were to scratch the spot, Quinn would be under a spell, instantly happy and agreeable. Brittany called it “the nice button” of Quinn.

Quinn grumbled and munched on her celery—five more days of vegan to go—as she remembered the conversation with Santana after she found out Santana spilled the beans to Rachel about the spot.  

_"How could you! That was only supposed to be between you, me, and Brittany!” Quinn shouted into her ear._

_“And Lord Tubbington,” Brittany added._

_"Ugh, stop screaming, I have a hangover, for crying out loud,” Santana slurred. “I was drunk, okay,” she said before passing out._

“I was drunk, okay!” Quinn mimicked. Thanks to Santana, Rachel now had access to a weak spot. She'd probably abuse the use of it! Using it to get whatever she wanted left and right. 

“Are you all right?” Rachel asked from the kitchen. “You’re talking to yourself again. I’m worried about you, Quinn.” She was currently making a six-course meal. She was pulling out the big guns for this special week with Quinn.

Quinn forgot about Santana’s drunken mistake and took the opportunity to complain.

“It’s these vegetables! They’re making me crazy!”

“That’s absurd!” Rachel laughed. “Do me a favor and turn on the T.V. please.” Rachel turned around and gave her the famous pouty face. “I need some background noise.”

“Hmph,” Quinn grumped but turned on the T.V. nevertheless. The default channel was some kid’s channel, and Quinn hoped that Johnny Bravo was on. He always made her feel better. Quinn liked to think that he was the male version of her. Tall. Handsome. Nice body.  

Imagine her surprise when it wasn’t Johnny Bravo that came on, but something else entirely that made her want to jump off a cliff.

_"If. You. Like. To. Talk. To. Tomatoes! If. A. Squash. Could. Make. You. Smile!"_

Quinn nearly choked on her celery as Bob the Tomato sang and Larry the Cucumber played the tuba.  

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

They were taunting her.

 _ _"If. You. Like. To. Waltz. With. Potatoes! Up. And. Down. The. Produce. Aisle . . ."__ Quinn cried (minus the tears). She couldn’t stand looking at another vegetable. It reminded her too much of her bacon babies.

Rachel quickly rushed to her wife’s side.  

“Honey, baby, are you all right?” Rachel asked as she planted kisses along her wife’s neck, murmuring soothing words.

Quinn pulled away and shot her an accusing look.

“Why are you looking at me like that? I didn’t know that show was still airing! I thought it would be over by now!” Quinn didn’t believe her. “What, you think I _plotted_ this?” Rachel almost laughed at the idea but didn’t due to Quinn’s serious expression.

“Why wouldn’t you! You just love the control _don’t_ you! You know what. Just because you’re so damn gorgeous it doesn’t mean I’ll let you do this to me!”

“Quinn—”

“I bet you even see me as a vegetable! Huh!? What am I to you! Am I your wife or a piece of _cabbage_!”

“Okay, Quinn, now you’re being ridiculous.”

_“Veggieta-a-ales! Veggieta-a-ales! Veggieta-a-ales!”_

“Ugh!” Quinn grabbed the remote and changed the channel, only to be greeted with the image of a spinach-covered pizza.   

_“Just pop that vegan pizza in the oven and in thirty minutes it’ll be more than ready to eat with a fabulous—”_

“Damn it!” Quinn turned off the T.V. and stood. “I’m going to take a nap,” she grumbled. She stomped up the stairs, marched inside the master’s bedroom, and was about to slam the door, but chose to delicately close it at the last second.  

Rachel smiled softly when she didn’t hear the door slam. Even in her cranky state, Quinn still managed to follow Rachel’s house rules. She got up and continued to cook her six-course meal. Perhaps her mushroom and bean fettuccine could ease Quinn’s frustration.

Upstairs, Quinn had no plans on taking a nap.

Quinn sat in the chair in front of her computer and started playing one of her favorite songs in defiance.

_“Bacon pancakes! Making bacon pancakes! Take some bacon and I’ll put it in a pancake! Bacon pancakes, that’s what it’s gonna make! Bacon pancaaake!”_

She hummed to the song, opened a new tab, and went to Youtube to watch some frying bacon. 

Quinn didn’t know why she felt a little guilty. It wasn’t like she was _eating_ bacon. She was just enjoying them. Just in another form. Rachel would surely find it reasonable. Quinn banished such thoughts of guilt and carried on with her indulgence.

Fifteen minutes later, unbeknownst to Quinn, Rachel made her way up the stairs to the bedroom. Rachel wanted to her to try out the sauce for the appetizer.

Quinn was so occupied in her own little world that she didn’t hear the doorknob turn or the door swing open.

But she did hear Rachel’s gasp.   

“You’re cheating!” Rachel yelled with heart-wrenching inflection, as if she had just caught Quinn with another woman.

 _Oh crap_ , Quinn thought as she faced the wrath of her wife who was currently on her period. _Shit is gonna go down . . ._

“No I’m not!” Quinn sputtered.

“Yes you are!”

“No I’m not!” Quinn insisted.

“Oh so if a married man, whose wife loves him dearly, has thoughts about another woman, and watches inappropriate videos on inappropriate websites, it doesn’t count as cheating!?” Quinn was about to say something, to actually agree with her, but Rachel plowed through her interruptions. “Nnn! It’s _cheating!_ ”

“But I’m not married to vegetables!” Quinn whined.

“You’re married to _me!_ You’re _devoted_ to veggies. For a week. You promised!”

“I’ve followed all the vegan rules, Rachel! I haven’t drank or eaten anything dairy, I haven’t touched any animal products, and most of all, I haven’t eaten any meat! No _bacon_! I don’t know what’s the big deal!”

“Did you listen to my analogy at all?” Rachel sighed. She took Quinn’s hands and pulled them both to sit on the bed. She held Quinn’s hands in her own and looked warmly into Quinn’s frightened eyes—it scared Quinn that Rachel’s mood just did a complete 180. “I’m happy that you followed the rules. It’s just, what I’m saying is . . . you’re not giving me one-hundred percent.”

Quinn’s eyes lit up in comprehension.

“Oh.”

Quinn’s tense shoulders relaxed at the confession and the way Rachel almost looked shy.

“I’m sorry, babe,” Quinn said.

“No, I’m sorry.”

“No, you’ve got nothing to be sorry about.” Quinn wrapped her arms around Rachel and decided that it couldn’t hurt to throw in a compliment. “You’re amazing.”

Rachel laughed at that.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Rachel said, before leaning in for a long kiss.

—

“Ughyuuuck!” Claire said to Bailey on the phone. Her moms could be so _loud!_  

“What’s wrong?” Bailey asked.

“My moms are getting all romantic.”

“Haha, like how romantic?”

Claire rolled her eyes. In a deep voice to imitate Quinn, she said, “Oh Rachel, I love you so much. Did I ever tell you that your eyes are like chocolate bonbons that I’d like to eat?” Then in an overly girly voice, “Oh Quinn!” 

Bailey burst out in laughter. 

—

Later that night, after Quinn, Rachel, and Claire had eaten the six-course meal and Claire had departed to her room, Quinn carried Rachel bridal-style into their bedroom, with Rachel kissing her deeply throughout the way, unaware of Rachel’s scheme to use Quinn’s “button.”

When they settled in their bed, Rachel wanted to watch a movie, and Quinn willingly obliged. Rachel giggled inside. _Step one. Check._

Halfway through the movie, Rachel successfully managed to get Quinn to lay her head on her lap.  Quinn had refused at first; perfectly liking her position to the side where she had easy access to Rachel’s neck and lips, but then Rachel practically shoved her down to her lap.

“Feisty . . .” Quinn chuckled. Rachel swatted her arm lightly in response.

 _Step two. Check_.

She started subtly at first, not wanting Quinn to jump to the right conclusion, by rubbing softly at the back of Quinn’s neck with her fingers. Then she gradually moved her fingers up.

When her fingers were nearly at the spot, she stopped. She waited until Paul Varjak—they were watching _Breakfast at Tiffany’s_ —was giving his speech about how Holly belonged to him. Rachel knew that Quinn always paid extra attention to the scene.

Rachel’s fingers finally reached their destination, scratching at the spot.

Quinn hummed contently.

Rachel waited a few minutes so that Quinn wouldn’t catch on.

_Time for the kill._

“Hey Quinn, remember those Labrador puppies that Sam’s dog gave birth to?”

“Mmmmmm . . .yeah, what about them?”

“Wouldn’t it be nice to own one of them? I mean just think about the cuteness-overload. I think I’d die from it!”

“Hmmmm . . . I don’t want you to die. You shouldn’t get it.”

Rachel frowned.

“I was figuratively speaking, Quinn.”

“Mmm-hmmm.”

“So . . .can we?”

“Can we what?”

Rachel leaned in close, close enough for her hot breath to tickle Quinn’s sensitive ear, all the while continuing to stroke Quinn’s spot.

“Get a puppy,” she said softly. 

Quinn gulped.

“Y-Yeah. Sure, why not?”

“Awww! You’re the best, Quinn!” Rachel kissed her with so much gusto that it knocked Quinn breathless.

Rachel made sure to thank Santana the very next day.


	3. Chapter 3

While they were picking out the puppy at Sam and Mercedes’s house, Quinn didn’t know why she was so opposed to the idea of having a dog. Rachel and Claire looked so happy, being mercilessly attacked by a pack of three-month old puppies. And if Rachel and Claire were happy, then she was happy, too.

Claire giggled as one of the puppies licked at her face.

“Mom! Can we get this one?” Claire looked between the pup’s legs. “Can we get her? Please? She’s so cute!”

“Ha! Like we need another girl!” Quinn piped up from her seat on the couch. The last thing they needed was more blood in the house. She could barely handle Rachel’s moods, let alone Claire’s. “Pick a boy.”

“Awww . . .” Claire put down the girl.

“Your mom’s right, Claire. We could use some testosterone at home.” Rachel scratched the chin of one of the pups.

Claire’s disappointment vanished when another puppy tried to crawl into her lap. She lifted it excitedly and looked between its legs to make sure it was male.

“Oooh! How about this one?”

“It’s kind of chubby,” Quinn commented.

“I like it. It makes it even more cute.” Claire rubbed her nose against the puppy’s. “Mommy,” she turned to Rachel. “Can we have this one?”

“Are you sure you want that one?” Rachel gave her a dubious look. “There’s no turning back, you know.”

After a quick inspection of the puppy, Claire said, “I’m sure.”

“Really sure?” Quinn questioned.

“Like really, really sure.”

“All right.” Rachel turned to Sam. “Sam, we’ll be getting this one.”

“Okey-dokey!” Sam went over and tied a blue ribbon around the puppy’s waist to mark it apart from its brothers and sisters. Wouldn’t want Claire to get confused with which one she picked later.

“Thank you, Uncle Sam!” Claire hugged their new puppy in gratitude.

“Yes, thank you America,” Quinn remarked.

“You’re very welcome,” Sam said in his Sean Connery voice.

Sam and Mercedes told Rachel and Quinn all the necessary information in taking care of a dog while Claire drowned herself in the pack of puppies.

“Number one rule: socialize him a lot. You don’t want him to hurt an innocent stranger.”

“Let him know who’s the alpha in the house.”

“You gotta potty-train him.”

Rachel and Quinn nodded through all the advice, asking a few questions here and there. Eventually, it was time to go, and Claire sadly kissed all the puppies goodbye, except for one, which she kept cradled in her arms.

The drive back home consisted of Rachel and Claire eagerly coming up with names.

“I’m thinking of Valentino,” Rachel suggested. “Maybe Mr. Arnstein? How about Lord Chubbington?”

“God, please don’t name it after Brittany’s cat,” Quinn put in.

“How about Quincy?”

“You are not naming it after me, Rachel. Take your role-playing fantasies somewhere else, preferably when our daughter’s not here. Then we’ll talk.”

Rachel punched her shoulder.

“What about Bailey!” Claire chirped.

Quinn almost veered off the road.

“We are not naming it after your girlfriend!” Quinn shouted furiously. “You sick child! What is wrong with you?”

“Okay, okay, I was just kidding . . . kind of.”

They continued like this the rest of the way, with Rachel and Claire trying to come up with the perfect name that Quinn wouldn’t reject. Eventually, they settled on Dug, after the movie Up. Claire was in love with the movie, and the puppy did look a lot similar to the fictional Golden Retriever, so Quinn agreed it was fine.

—  
After only three days after getting the puppy, Quinn suddenly remembered why she didn’t want to own a dog, especially a puppy. Rachel gave it more attention than Quinn liked. Like she was doing right now.

  
It barked happily as Rachel rubbed it behind its ears.

  
“Rachel?” Quinn called.

No response. It was as if she wasn't even there.

“Rachel, do you even know who I am anymore?”

“Huh? Did you say something?”

“Nothing,” Quinn muttered.

Quinn didn’t appreciate Dug stealing the spotlight. Rachel should’ve been fawning over Quinn, not some furry little beast. It was Rachel’s duty after all, Quinn reasoned, to maintain fidelity.

—  
A day later, Quinn decided to confront the pup about her wife. Tell it to back off her woman. It could go after Claire (hopefully it would make Bailey insanely jealous), but not Rachel. Rachel was hers.

“Hey there you little mongrel,” Quinn cooed, as she rubbed Dug’s neck with fake enthusiasm. “You like that? Stealing my wife? Huh? Why yes you do! Yes you do! You little home. wrecker!”

Dug bit her finger, not liking the tone at the end.

“Ow! You little—”

Dug yelped as Quinn grabbed it by the scruff of the neck.

“Say you’re sorry! Say you’re sorry! If you value your short, doggy life, speak!” Quinn shook the bundle of fur. Dug did a dog version of a sob. “I know you can speak, you did it in the movie! Now say you’re SORRY!”

Dug howled pathetically.

“I suppose that will do. Maybe it’s because you don’t have your special collar,” Quinn relented as she dropped it to the floor, not wanting to alert Rachel or Claire to its cries. “I hope we understand each other, mongrel.”

Dug ran away, in search for the nice two ladies. Anyone except this horrible person.

—  
Rachel found out about Quinn’s ill treatment of Dug one day when coming home from work. She unlocked, and then opened the front door to be welcomed to the sight of Quinn vigorously shaking Dug up and down.

“Quinn! What in Barbra’s name are you doing!”

Quinn jumped, dropping Dug in the process. Dug fled to cower behind Rachel.

“I was just—you know—”

“What! What! What excuse do you have for me now?”

“I was . . . checking to see if it swallowed something?” Quinn offered meekly.

“First it was Bailey, now you’re being mean to a puppy? What next, Quinn? Are you going to get jealous when I put a fork in my mouth? Get all angry at the poor fork who did nothing wrong to you?”

“I wouldn’t do that!”

“Of course you wouldn’t. It’s not like you have a history of hurting things that haven’t done anything bad to you.” As soon as the words came out, Rachel regretted it. Quinn’s face fell and she was immediately reminded of how she had tormented Rachel in high school. The familiar onslaught of guilt made her want to hide in her own skin.

No matter how many years passed, no matter how much Rachel told Quinn that it was okay, that she had forgotten about those years, that she loved her, and that she was more than forgiven, Quinn never seemed to let it go. She had made Rachel’s life a living hell. And Quinn couldn’t forgive herself for that.

“Hey, hey, we’ve talked about this before, didn’t we? I didn’t mean it, I was just joking.” Rachel reached out to delicately press her palms against Quinn’s face. “I didn’t mean it. You know how I like to tease you. How many times do I have to reassure you?” She gently moved her thumbs across skin. She had reopened some wounds that she really would have liked to keep healed.

“No, you’re right. I’ve been such a child. I should stop.” Quinn looked to the side in shame.

“No, that’s not what I want!” She hadn’t expected it to end up like this. “I said that because it was such a long time ago. I somehow brought it out casually, as a joke.” She brought their foreheads together so that Quinn would meet her eyes. “The fact it’s been nearly twenty years since high school and that you’ve been so kind to me ever since, it just made me think it was just a joke. Just that. A joke. Almost a dream, really . . . Actually, I was hoping that after all this time, we would look back and you would say, ‘haha, remember when I was a mean cheerleader to you?’ and I would say, ‘oh yeah, you were so hot in that outfit.’”

Quinn still looked like she wasn’t convinced.

“C’mon, I mean, ‘Manhands?’ ‘RuPaul?’ I could have come up with better insults.”

“Those were Santana’s.”

“And what would you have come up with?”

“Cute. Smart. Talented."

Rachel smiled and put her arms around Quinn’s neck. Quinn always pleasantly surprised her. Most of the time.

“Those aren’t insults.”

“Oh right. Um . . . Shortie. Tootsie roll. Fun size. Thumbelina. Stuart Little. Rachel and the Chipmunks. Itsy bitsy little—”

“Okay, I think that’s enough.” Rachel rolled her eyes before grinning at her. “You’re so funny,” Rachel said sarcastically.

“I’m hilarious.” Quinn smirked.

Gone was the tension and back was the teasing, their earlier conversation forgotten. Rachel loved this about their marriage. Even after all this time, it still felt like they were dating again. Rachel had heard so many horrid stories about marriage, about couples who had started to hate each other. At one point in her life she was afraid the stories would come true to her and Quinn, but it had surely faded away across the years. Quinn treated her like a princess, attending to every little want and need she could ever have while Rachel fought hard to return the tenderness.

Glad that she and Quinn were one of those “rare couples,” as one of her friends once said, and glad that Quinn was in a good mood again, Rachel decided to humor herself longer.

“Let’s see just how funny you are Captain Hardy Har Har. Hmmm . . . Tell me . . . a gay joke. Quick. Go.”

“Oh! Oh! I got this! I’m so good at this! Um, okay . . . why was a boy puppy humping another boy puppy?”

“This better not be about Dug,” Rachel warned.

“It isn’t! Now, why was a boy puppy humping another boy puppy?”

“I don’t know, Quinn.”

“He was watching Brokeback Mountain! Ohhhhhh yeeeahhhhh! Did I pass the test? Do I get a prize?” Quinn almost looked like Dug when he wanted a treat, Rachel thought.

“I can’t believe you sometimes.”

“You love me.”

“Hmm, that I do,” Rachel said, bringing their lips together. “So much.”

“I love you, too.”

—  
“Ugh, they’re at it again,” Claire complained to Bailey on the phone. She had come downstairs for a snack, but after seeing her mothers’ closeness, she twisted around and went back in her room.

“I never see my parents all love-dovey. It must be nice.”

“Not really, I mean, yeah it’s nice when they hold hands in the car and stuff like that, but when they start making out, nuh-uh. It’s just. No.”

“Oh, yeah, that must be kind of weird.”

Claire digressed. She didn't want to sound like a brat that only talked about herself, especially not to Bailey. And besides, Bailey had said something interesting.

“Your parents never get all mushy around you?” Claire asked softly. She hoped it wasn't a sensitive topic.

“Far from it. They’re . . . not really fond of each other . . . Uh, hey, I can’t wait to come over again! I've missed you.”

Bailey was clearly uncomfortable talking about her parents. And Claire respected that. She would wait until Bailey was more comfortable with her. She readily transitioned into the change of topic.

“Me, too. I can’t wait to continue our pillow fight. You were so busted last time.”

“Don’t remind me, fatty.” Claire wasn't fat at all, but Bailey liked seeing Claire flustered.

“Oh you are so lucky we’re talking on the phone. Enjoy another living day, jerkface.”

“I will treasure the gift, milady.”

—

Quinn spurred from her seat when she heard the front door open. Rachel was finally home from work. She quickly went downstairs to greet Rachel. She couldn’t wait to kiss her. Hug her. Maybe cop a feel or two. 

_Yes._

But as she approached the front door, she saw Rachel kneeling while it licked at her face.

“Hey, he stole my kiss!” Quinn stomped her foot. She didn’t care if she looked like a five-year old. “I’m only supposed to do that! Rachel . . . Rachel! Pay attention to me!”

“Aw, of course you get a kiss,” Rachel said as she got up, hugged Quinn, and did just that. “Here, you even get two.” Rachel pecked her lips again.

“I want five-hundred.”

Rachel chuckled.

“Feeling greedy, Quinn Fabray-Berry?”

“I want five-hundred kisses, Rachel Barbra Fabray-Berry,” Quinn ordered.

Rachel happily granted her wife’s wish.

—  
“Rachel! Oh my God, what are you doing to it!” Quinn cried. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Even though she despised the damn thing, it didn’t deserve this! Nothing deserved this!

“Don’t call him ‘it!’ He has a name, Quinn!” Rachel scolded as she fed Dug some broccoli.

“You’re turning him vegan!?”


	4. Chapter 4

Quinn lazily handed Dug some bacon bits. They had bonded a little when Quinn rushed to protect him from Rachel’s vegan plans. Dug happily licked her hand clean of the bits. Rachel never did this for him. Feed him this good stuff. Dug decided that he liked Quinn a little. This stuff was addictive!

“Hey do you want anything?” Rachel asked, stepping into the living room and standing over Quinn, who was lying face down on the couch. “I’m making snacks for when Bailey’s coming over. Do you want anything specific?” 

Quinn lolled her head in Rachel’s direction. She was so bored today. Hearing the question, Quinn couldn’t resist. 

“Make me a sandwich, woman.”

Rachel gasped and smacked Quinn’s backside several times. 

“Hey! Ow! Ow! Woman, I protest such violence! Stop at once!” 

“You know what, just because of your rude comment, I’m choosing our costumes for Halloween this year.”

Now it was Quinn’s turn to gasp. 

“No!”

“Yes.” 

“You can’t.” 

“Live with it. As much as I like dressing up as food, I’d prefer something more a little more creative.”

“But I thought you liked dressing up as bacon!”

“No, you like it. And call me ‘woman’ again, I dare you, and you’ll be sleeping on the couch tonight.”

“My apologies . . . civilian.” 

Rachel shook her head in disbelief. “You’re having a laugh, aren’t you? Well, have your fun because when Bailey comes here, you better start speaking normal English.”

“Are you ashamed of thy wife?” 

Rachel pinched her nose and closed her eyes. Honestly, the things Quinn made up. 

“Just how long are you going to speak like that?”

“As long as the sun rises in the east.” 

“Ugh, whatever Quinn, just help me with the snacks and dinner.”

“Anything for a beautiful goddess such as yourself.” Quinn got up and followed Rachel into the kitchen. 

“I thought I was a civilian.” 

“Hm, me too, but then I remembered how awesome your butt is.” Quinn said as she slapped Rachel’s butt.

“Wha—hey!” Rachel turned around and lightheartedly pushed Quinn’s shoulders and tried hard not to smile. She failed. “I swear, you only want me for my body, you perv.” 

“A perv that really likes your butt,” Quinn said as she placed both of her hands on Rachel’s butt and drew her close. Rachel rested her hands on Quinn’s shoulders. Quinn was about to dive in for a kiss, but was then reminded of a certain seventeen year-old when she heard a loud shriek. 

“Aiiiieeeaaaahhh! My eyes!” Claire cried as she covered her face with her hands. She had gone to the kitchen to help her mommy with the snacks, not to see a make-out session. And are those—oh my God, oh my God—are those her mom’s hands on mommy’s butt. 

She glared at Quinn for putting such a sight for her eyes. “Stop that mom! Are you trying to mentally scar me for life?”

Without even looking at her, Quinn muttered out a “yes,” before puckering her lips at her wife and dabbing multiple kisses on Rachel’s mouth. Rachel, who was trying to dodge Quinn’s loving attacks, started giggling.

“Stop Quinn, you dog.” 

Quinn grinned and let out a “woof.” So did Dug. 

Claire’s mouth fell open and she was about to reprimand her parents about their shameless acts of affection when the doorbell suddenly rang. 

“Oh thank God!” Claire felt all her irritation drain as she happily bounced to the front door. Quinn slightly pulled away from Rachel and watched her daughter in amusement. 

“She’s just like you: scary and volatile.” 

Rachel placed her head on Quinn’s shoulder and hummed in agreement. 

“Bailey seems like a nice kid, don’t you think? Someone to calm Claire,” Rachel mused. 

Quinn didn’t know what spurred drove her to say it, but it was too late by the time she uttered, “Yeah, Finn seemed like a nice kid, too.” 

Rachel then gave her this unreadable expression, and Quinn momentarily wondered if she had said something completely wrong, but then the front door closed, and Claire, along with Bailey, was making their way to them. 

Rachel immediately put on her Broadway smile on. Quinn knew that that particular topic would continue soon, so she put on a relatively polite face. 

Rachel strode toward Bailey and Claire with the biggest smile she had that betrayed the tension she had inside. 

“It’s so nice to see you! We missed you.” Rachel firmly hugged Bailey as Bailey replied with an equally friendly response. When Rachel pulled back, Quinn stepped forward. 

When she hugged Bailey, she couldn’t resist going back to her old habits.

“If I ever see you on top of my daughter I will end you,” Quinn whispered while hugging Bailey. Bailey audibly gulped. Quinn pulled back and said, in a louder, much more cheerful voice, “Glad you’re back, kid! It’s good to see you again!” 

“Uh, t-thank you,” Bailey stuttered. 

“Aww, it’s good to see some love between you two,” Rachel said, unaware of Quinn’s whispered threat. 

Claire was giving Quinn a suspicious look, which Quinn ignored. 

“Okay!” Claire took Bailey’s hand. “We’re going to hang out in my room, so if you’ll excuse us.” She propelled Bailey out of the living room, much to Bailey’s relief and Quinn’s apprehension, and up the stairs to her room. 

Rachel sighed before picking up Dug, who was quietly rolling around on the floor, and sat on the nearby couch, rubbing his back. She wordlessly patted the seat next to her. Although Quinn wanted nothing but to run in the opposite direction, she obliged to Rachel’s request. 

“What was that back there?” Rachel casually asked. 

Quinn dodged what Rachel was really talking about and said, “I was nice to Bailey.” 

Rachel sweetly smiled at her wife. Quinn internally recoiled in fear. 

“No, before that, Quinn.” 

Quinn obtusely stared at Rachel. It was much easier to look at Rachel if she pretended it was a stare contest, so that’s what she did. Pretended. Rachel rolled her eyes. She cut in to the heart of the matter. 

“Do you really think Bailey’s capable of being like Finn? Is that what you meant?” Rachel quietly asked, afraid that Claire and Bailey would hear her despite the slim chances of it. 

“Well, yeah.” Quinn carefully chose her words for the next few sentences. “I mean, Finn had that innocent all American baby face, and he was charming and nice. At first. Then I don’t know what happened, but he became a total douche bag. So yeah, I think I have the right to be suspicious of Claire’s girlfriend, even though she is a girl. It’s not just boys that hurt, you know? I . . . I hurt you, too.” There it was again. Quinn’s shame and guilt. 

“Oh Quinn . . .” Rachel pushed Dug to the side and engulfed Quinn in a warm embrace. “Oh Quinn. You shouldn’t ever compare yourself to him. Or anyone. But especially him. He’s nothing compared to you. You’re so much better.” 

Quinn relaxed a little at Rachel’s affirmation. 

“I don’t want it to happen to Claire,” Rachel said as she kept her hold on Quinn. 

“Never,” Quinn agreed.

Rachel loosened her hug to look at Quinn in the eyes. “But how would we prevent it?” 

“We could always hire a hit man.”

“I’m serious Quinn.” 

Quinn huffed. “Well, we could do it the old-fashioned way and stalk—I mean investigate her. Or, like, come up with some experiments or questionnaires.” 

“Hey, that’s not so bad. Yeah. We should do that. And hey!” Rachel suddenly slapped Quinn’s shoulder in excitement. “We could get Sam and the others in on it, too! Oh my God, this could be like our new hobby or something!” 

“Yeah.” Quinn smiled contently, happy that she wasn’t punished and instead praised by Rachel. She had expected Rachel to give her a lecture on her comment about Finn, but things somehow worked out. 

“Give me a draft of your plans by next week! Processed and fully-developed, Quinn!” 

Quinn grinned.


End file.
